People Like Us
by Saere
Summary: When forced to think seriously about Ichigo dying, Kenpachi realizes how much it would hurt to live without the brat. Kenpachi/Ichigo. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1 His

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters belong to their respective owner(s).

**Warnings: **yaoi/slash, sex, violence, language

**People Like Us**

_Chapter One_

"Damnit, Yachiru!"

"Ooh, Ken-chan is mad?"

The eleventh division's captain ran around his rooms, hurriedly upturning furniture with an impatient rage while his lieutenant smiled fondly, swinging her tiny legs off the edge of a couch. He glanced at the clock; they were already late for lunch because his hair needed a little extra attention, and now he couldn't find his damn sword! He had handed the crenulated weapon to Yachiru for safe-keeping while he concentrated on attaching his bells, but the pink-haired sprite had managed, of course, to misplace it within minutes. To make matters worse, a nameless zanpakutō was nearly impossible to locate once lost.

Kenpachi's stomach ached, protesting the delay.

"Are you sure you can't remember where you put it?" he asked, frustrated. "The sooner we find it the sooner you can go eat with baldy in the mess hall."

Yachiru scrunched up her face, tapping a finger against pursed lips. She completely failed to look serious.

Kenpachi had no time for cuteness that morning. He heaved a sigh. "This would be so much easier if I knew its name. Whatever. C'mon, let's just go."

His companion cheered, abandoning her seat in favor of the much larger man's broad shoulder. A sword clattered raucously to the floor when she jumped, causing Kenpachi to stare at it in mute shock.

He bent to grip it firmly by the handle. "…you were sitting on it?"

Yachiru only giggled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Again, whatever," he resigned. Every few years he was reminded of the painful truth that time just didn't change some people. Yachiru would always be Yachiru, a fact he was usually thankful for when not suffering from such intense hunger. "If I don't get food soon, I am going to kill somebody."

"But Ichi isn't here!"

Kenpachi grinned at the mention of his favorite strawberry. The boy really needed to come to Soul Society soon, even if he only intended on visiting the Kuchiki girl. Kenpachi hadn't had a decent fight since the last time he cornered the redhead into a spar.

"I know," he said, smirking, "but Ikkaku will do just fine for now."

They departed from their rooms in companionable silence, smiling as a bright sun cheerily warmed their skin. With Kenpachi's speed it only took a short time to reach eleventh squad's cafeteria. His hunger kept them from getting lost.

"Yo!" Kenpachi shouted the moment he sped through the entrance. A tense hush greeted him, which was strange. The normally boisterous crowd was speaking in muted tones, their heads together until the captain spoke.

"Good morning, Captain," several chimed quietly.

"What's going on? If you're tired of fighting I'm trading the lot of you to Unohana."

Many of them turned to the third seat officer, who answered for them all.

"We have bad news," the bald man called as Kenpachi closed the doors fully and stepped farther into the room. His voice sounded strained. Kenpachi shrugged, not really caring, as bad news generally meant a battle.

Kenpachi _really_ liked fighting.

Depositing Yachiru at a table, he piled two plates high with food before carrying them back and sitting down, making sure his chair was pushed far enough back to allow for plenty leg room. His lieutenant bounced over to sit in his lap, immediately draping abundant amounts of soy sauce and sugar over both of their meals. Digging in, he nodded appreciatively at the chaotic mess.

Ikkaku chose that moment to clear his throat with an annoying volume. "I had news…"

"What? Oh, on with it then." Kenpachi waved a bored hand.

"Captain, Ichigo's dead."

Kenpachi's ever-present grin faltered momentarily, but he hid it with a snort, fingers dropping back to the table to help Yachiru use a fork. That was impossible, wasn't it? People like Ichigo—and himself—couldn't be killed. It went against the very laws of nature.

People like them didn't die without shaking the very earth to its core. "I don't believe you," he voiced.

Ikkaku stiffened and thought for a minute, still facing away from his captain. Yumichika ribbed him.

"Captain, I am completely serious. Ichigo died last night."

"That idiot's…gone?" Kenpachi couldn't think clearly. Ichigo was too strong, too marvelously powerful to be beaten.

Ikkaku didn't respond.

The spiky-haired captain stared down at his meal in utter confusion. His wide smirk crumbled, leaving a blank slate of disturbance behind. Mouth suddenly gone dry, his voice was hard to summon.

"Who killed him?" Kenpachi asked, almost timidly. For the first time in his violent existence, he wanted to fight for an emotion other than enjoyment. He simply wanted to tear to pieces the being that had somehow managed to overcome Ichigo, for even _daring_ to be stronger than the teenage shinigami. Ichigo was a constant, unbreakable pillar of strength, and his rival. His fun, his plaything, his comrade.

His.

"I asked who fuckin' killed Ichigo, Madarame!" Kenpachi's quiet question evolved into a snarl, and he pounded the table with a clenched fist. Yachiru fled his lap to peek out at the scene from behind Yumichika, sharing a look with the vain man.

Kenpachi surmised that it was his spilling reiatsu that made Ikkaku tremble.

"I know you wanted to kill Ichigo yourself, Captain, but…"

"Tell me. Now." Kenpachi's palm lingered on the edge of his eye patch. His subordinates glanced at the already shaking windows with trepidation.

"Um…"

"Madarame!"

"I…I…" Ikkaku suddenly fell backwards, rolling onto the floor and flailing. "I can't hold it back any longer! Oh god," he laughed. "Yumichika, I _told_ you he'd freak out if he thought Ichigo was gone forever!"

"Uh, Ikkaku." Yumichika observed the emotions flashing across their captain's pale face. "I'm starting to think that this wasn't a very beautiful prank of yours."

"Of course it was! It's his own damn fault that he overreacted to the truth."

Yumichika turned to Kenpachi, rightly afraid that the man might draw his zanpakutō and slaughter them all. "Captain, Ichigo really is dead. But where exactly do you think dead people go?"

"Huh?" Kenpachi frowned. "Is he gone or isn't he?!"

"He was hit by a car, and his soul came here just like any other. The brat's just visiting the squads to see which one he wants to join most. He stopped by earlier to see Ikkaku." _So calm down._

"…the fuck does he need to think about? The only place he'd ever fit in is here, with me." Kenpachi was steadily growing angry, though just seconds before he'd been paralyzed with doubt. Now there was not anything but a fierce determination to find Ichigo. He'd figure out what to do with the boy once he had his fingers around that pale, slender throat.

He stood and closed his exposed eye, searching for the one reiatsu his body was most finely in tune with. It didn't take long.

"He's somewhere near sixth division," he growled roughly. "I'll go bring the bastard back."

Yumichika's eyes widened. There was something off about the captain; and while he may not be close with Ichigo himself, the cold glint in Kenpachi's eye made him worry for the new full-time shinigami. "Captain, please wait!" Kenpachi grunted in answer, walking swiftly to the door. "Give him time to think! He just died!"

"Hn."

"Don't make him hate you! He'll actually be gone this time if you-"

Kenpachi of course ignored his fifth seat and emerged into open air, door slamming violently behind him. Ichigo would join _his_ squad.

Ichigo would be _his_.

* * *

Minutes later, it was a very surprised Kurosaki Ichigo that found himself slammed none too gently against a wall in the sixth squad's barracks. The tightening hand around his neck made him panic.

"What the hell? Who are you? I'll tear you to pieces!"

"We can skip the chitchat then and get straight to the usual. I'm looking forward to it."

Blinking to clear his vision, Ichigo looked into the scarred face of the very reason he visited Ikkaku early in the morning. "Fuck. I don't have time for this, Kenpachi."

Kenpachi smirked, pressing Ichigo harder against the wall in warning. His monstrously large frame easily towered over the lithe shinigami. "Aren't you happy to see me?" he purred. "After all, it's my squad you'll be joining."

Ichigo glared defiantly back at the captain. Despite his own power, it was hard to summon enough courage when the muscled body of Seireitei's most fanatic warrior had him pinned.

The reiatsu was smothering.

"I already… decided to j-join Renji's," Ichigo choked out. "Kenpachi, I can't-" He strengthened his struggling. When Kenpachi lifted him further off of the ground, forcing his sandaled feet to dangle, Ichigo began to feel dizzy. The hallway was suddenly narrower than ever and airless.

Kenpachi snarled. Teeth baring, he searched Ichigo's features questioningly. "You were made for eleventh squad, Ichigo. You'd never be happy with anyone else."

"I'm happiest with…with my friends." Ichigo's hands had at some point joined to Kenpachi's own, desperately trying to ply off the digits that served as a suffocating collar.

"People like us need to fight to live. Not survive, because people like us can't easily die." Kenpachi smiled; the emotion was unusual and made Ichigo pause his wild thrashing. "You can't honestly tell me that your heart doesn't race every time the blood spilt by your sword stains your hands. That you've never laughed while hacking a Hollow to pieces."

Ichigo hesitated before struggling with a fresh burst of vigor.

"Let. Me. Go."

"No. Not until you agree to be mine."

"Wh-what?"

"That pansy Kuchiki can't handle anything more bloodthirsty than a sewing needle," the grinning giant continued. "You deserve to have comrades who can underst-" Ichigo drooped in his grasp, swaying limply in the air as though he was nothing more than an abandoned marionette that its creator had jokingly accessorized with a kitchen knife and outrageously bright hair. "Ichigo?"

Kenpachi stopped his persuasion and peered closely at Ichigo. Pulse, check. Reiatsu, check. Consciousness, che- oh, shit.

He let go of Ichigo with a muted gasp, dropping the shinigami like he was shockingly hot. Back braced by his large weapon, Ichigo crumpled to the floor. Kenpachi bit his bottom lip for a moment of thought before he picked up the slumped young man and started running back to his rooms. Ichigo seemed tiny when he wasn't awake and raging; he fit in the crooks of Kenpachi's arms, easily molding against the larger man's torso.

Kenpachi ignored the curious looks he won while racing through the bright streets of Seireitei. He almost wished it was darker, although that would also serve to make him seem more suspicious if a night patroller realized exactly what he was carrying.

The wind brushed Ichigo's hair against the bare parts of his chest, and Kenpachi gazed down at the fragile burden.

Fragile, heh. Ichigo was anything but weak; there was no doubt in Kenpachi's buzzing mind that Ichigo would wake up with nothing but hurt pride. Until then, Kenpachi would wait and at least feign calm when he next tried convincing Ichigo that they'd make a perfect pair in battle. He couldn't imagine a life without Ichigo, an eternity of pointless battles that he would know Ichigo should be by his side for.

He… he…

Not even pretending to be gentle, Kenpachi craned and lowered his mouth to the softer one of the teenager. His tongue teased the silken lips before Kenpachi drew away to pay attention to where he was going, jaw clenching while he savored the taste. There was no reply from the motionless shinigami, but he was okay with that. An aware and thinking Ichigo would have bruised his hand trying to break Kenpachi's face; right now, Kenpachi only possessed Ichigo's beautiful shell.

He was okay with that, too. Kenpachi had never taken the time to truly study Ichigo because quite honestly, he now realized, they had never been alone together without fighting. There was always some random crisis that forced them apart, or friends that Ichigo's entire world seemed to revolve around.

Kenpachi slowed so that he could walk and cherish the moment. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but since Ichigo couldn't currently run away he was free to deliberate and just _breathe_ the same air.

As he returned to his rooms, it finally sank in that Ichigo couldn't go back to the human world. Kenpachi could—especially if he succeeded in his recruiting efforts—see Ichigo every day. The thought brought a wary smile of pleasure to his lips.

He held Ichigo closer.

The rooms were still painted by the debris of cushions and clothing from that morning's drama. Kenpachi maneuvered skillfully through the mess to reach his bedroom, where he was careful to lay Ichigo gently on the bed after stripping the boy of his zanpakutō. Sheets swallowed the long limbs and black hakama without care, yet somehow the bed seemed fuller than ever. More complete.

Feeling strange, Kenpachi snuck one last peek at Ichigo and wandered out to his and Yachiru's tiny kitchen.

He was still hungry.

Five hours passed without Ichigo stirring an inch. His breathing was even and untroubled as though in sleep, but the fact remained that he had yet to move or grimace since he'd been knocked out cold at noon. By the time the skies mellowed and cicadas sang their song, Kenpachi was feeling guilty. The spots where his fingers had clasped Ichigo now sported angry bruises.

To be blunt, Kenpachi felt like shit—like he'd ruined something precious.

Yachiru had already come and gone, reminding Kenpachi why he liked her when she accepted an already packed overnight bag without question and headed to a friend's. Now the brooding captain was left all alone with a kid he'd nearly strangled to…death? It was difficult to remember that Ichigo was already dead, because he didn't look any different. The Ichigo that Kenpachi had known always wore the same outfit, always reacted the same, always looked so gloriously ethereal when fighting.

And now he was here, lying sprawled across Kenpachi's bed.

Kenpachi palmed his face, groaning. He was so bloody confused. He couldn't deal with this right now. Shedding his sandals and weapon, he positioned his body a few feet away from Ichigo, the bed dipping under his weight. Satisfied that he would know immediately if the redhead woke, he turned his back, relishing the proximity.

The strange feeling burned.

It hurt.

Kenpachi faced Ichigo again, one arm bending to prop up his head. The other crept forward without meaning to, rubbing tentative circles on Ichigo's covered stomach. Any and all inhibitions he had always melted away and reformed like ice when around Ichigo. Kenpachi couldn't resist hurting the boy, couldn't resist turning around and saving him, couldn't resist… touching him. Leaning until he was sitting upright, Kenpachi trailed both hands to Ichigo's face, exploring the smooth dips and rises.

Ichigo was beautiful; without really thinking, Kenpachi stooped for his second taste of the boy. His tongue, much gentler now, lingered longer than it maybe should have. When Kenpachi parted with a gasp, he was too tempted to not take more. He knelt over Ichigo's still form, splaying wide palms on both shoulders, and claimed the younger shinigami's mouth. Flesh-lusting lips journeyed from the slack jaw to a damaged neck, testing and savoring each inch.

Kenpachi panted heavily. Even now, he hated Ichigo for weakening him without even trying. For gods' sake, the boy was out cold yet could still make Kenpachi's knees tremble with excitement and craving.

He leaned back, resting on Ichigo's thighs, to watch for any tell-tale signs of waking.

"Damnit, kid," he breathed. "I can't take this."


	2. Chapter 2 Ways

_Chapter Two_

Ichigo couldn't breathe.

It wasn't that he was dying—again—or even struggling under the pressure of some unseen force, but there was a distinct throb of pain every time he cautiously drew in air. Back resting against something soft, his entire body ached with the memory of hurt.

Still, he was comfortable. Ichigo allowed his muscles to relax into the welcoming folds of a bed, snuggling closer to the nearest pillow, and tempered his breathing. _In, out. In, out. Too deep—hurts. In, out. In…_

"You're awake, huh."

Ichigo jolted and sat up with a groan, immediately regretting the movement as his body trembled and hands released the pillow he'd been spooning. Eyes clenching, he warily collapsed onto the mattress.

"Are you still in pain?" the rumbling of a familiar voice questioned with a hint of confusion. Ichigo cautiously cracked open an eye but was unsuccessful in finding its owner. Wincing, he supported some of his weight on sleep-weary elbows; the better view of his surroundings permitted him a glimpse of a figure slouched sloppily in a nearby chair.

"Kenpachi?" Ichigo said quietly. The name, torn from dry lips, sounded broken.

Kenpachi stared at Ichigo in mild concern. He wasn't too worried about Ichigo's condition, but he hadn't expected the boy's throat to still be tender. He must have used too much strength earlier.

He took a deep breath, counting to ten in his head. "I'm sorry," he grunted inaudibly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I'm sorry, okay? I don't regret fighting you, but I apologize for yelling at ya when you couldn't even talk back."

"Oh, uh, okay. May I leave, then?" Ichigo asked hopefully.

Kenpachi stood and stretched. His limbs were sore from resting in the same position for so many hours. Unable to trust himself in a bed with a helpless, unconscious Ichigo, he'd taken a _very_ long shower and then banished himself to a rarely used chair in his bedroom. He didn't get visitors often, so the furniture was mainly for throwing clothes on.

He ran a hand through the inky hair that now catered to gravity by resting on his shoulders. "If you hadn't noticed, it's dark outside," he said. "Just go back to sleep."

Ichigo fingered the edge of a blanket, uneasily doubtful. Kenpachi was right, though. The room was lit only by the efforts of a single lamp.

"Okay, I guess. It's too late to bother someone else…"

"Good," said Kenpachi, and that was that.

Joints popping from lack of use, he threw back the covers and lay down by Ichigo. Now that the boy was conscious, there was no reason to not enjoy the comforts of his own bed. After all, Ichigo could punch him if he did something now, which he wasn't planning on. Not until tomorrow, anyway. He was exhausted.

That is, unless Ichigo jumped him or something. He reckoned he could handle _that_.

Ichigo asked what the hell Kenpachi was doing, to which Kenpachi only yawned. They were both too tired to protest the situation any further.

The teen eyed Kenpachi's hair for a curious moment before he adjusted his shihakusho and relaxed. He wasn't quite sure why he was thankful his clothes were still on, other than the fact that Kenpachi's blistering gaze made him feel oddly naked. Clothing was the only barrier he had, just barely separating him from the large man.

Skin prickling, Ichigo rolled onto his side and tried to ignore the unrelenting scrutiny of his bedmate.

* * *

When morning finally arrived, it was nothing special. The sun, as quietly potent as ever, roused Kenpachi and Ichigo from their bed at a decent hour, and after several minutes they wandered to the kitchen for breakfast.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," Ichigo commented as he watched Kenpachi scavenge for tea bags. They were soon found in an upper cabinet, which Kenpachi reached with no difficulty.

"If you dream about drinking tea with me on any regular basis, then you're one fucked up guy."

Ichigo blushed. "No, I mean I never expected to wake up in your house after losing a battle. I figured you were the kind of guy to leave me unconscious in the hallway. Instead, you kindly brought me back to your place."

"Yeah, that's me. I practically ooze generosity," Kenpachi said tiredly. He was not well rested. "And that wasn't a battle. I threw you against a wall and ranted."

Ichigo accepted a cup graciously and let the tea steep before he took a sip. It was not the best he'd ever tasted, but still satisfying and reminiscent of his father, who made meals on the rare occasion that Yuzu was unwell. "Regardless, thank you. Both for not killing me and for this. It's good."

"I'd never purposely kill you," Kenpachi mumbled into his own cup.

"Hm?"

"I don't let my own men die."

Ichigo shifted his weight between feet and looked up. "I already told you I was joining Renji's squad. Remember, I said so when you were _strangling_ me? Let it go."

"What the fuck is wrong with my squad?"

Ichigo glared at Kenpachi as he drained his cup and set it on a counter by the sink. "Nothing," he stated calmly, "is wrong or right about any of the squads. Except maybe Kurotsuchi's—there's something creepy about it. Point is, I'm joining the division that people precious to me are in. It was either sixth or thirteenth," he shrugged.

"Then hurry the hell up and make me a precious person."

"I'm sorry, Kenpachi, but I can't do that," said Ichigo, surprised. "That's not how it works. I barely know you." He smiled kindly and walked out to the main room to find his zanpakutō so he could leave. "Thanks for the tea."

Kenpachi struggled to not lash out and beat the defiance from Ichigo. While bruises appealed to his pride as a warrior, he didn't want to injure Ichigo at the moment. Some other time, perhaps. Right then, laying a single finger on Ichigo felt wrong in the same uncomfortable way that hitting Yachiru would feel.

Instead, he settled for backing Ichigo against the couch until the redhead was forced into a sitting position.

"Then get to know me," Kenpachi said huskily. "We have time." Trying to look casual, he leaned over Ichigo, one hand cementing itself near Ichigo's shoulder and effectively trapping the teen. The other played with Ichigo's hair.

Ichigo shied away from the touch. "No. I'm signed up to join sixth squad for training today. There is no way a single day could possibly make me more loyal to you than I am to my current friends."

His determination didn't merit any recognition from Kenpachi. Lips splitting, the smug captain shifted closer and trailed confident fingers down Ichigo's side.

"I can think of a few ways."

Kenpachi moved his head down to Ichigo's neck, letting warm breath do the talking for him. It fulfilled its purpose, as Ichigo shivered and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when Kenpachi didn't pull away. The captain smirked when he felt Ichigo gulp.

"What-"

Kenpachi opened his mouth slightly to press a kiss to tense skin. Ichigo's eyes widened.

"Bastard, you can't mean—shit, you do. Get your hand away from t-there!" Kenpachi's hand slid steadily down to Ichigo's waist, slipping a fraction of the way under Ichigo's hakama. Teeth grazed Ichigo's neck in warning.

"Hold still," he commanded.

Ichigo tried to scramble away, but the large hand glued to his hip kept him trapped. He squirmed when it inched its way completely into his pants and took firm grasp of him. Arching his back with a gasp, he tried unsuccessfully to duck under Kenpachi's other arm and was gripped by the chin.

Kenpachi leered, raising Ichigo's face for a kiss. Ichigo struggled but was unable to escape the tongue that probed his lips when Kenpachi bent down, fighting forced pleasure when Kenpachi's long fingers gave several languid strokes.

"S-stop it," Ichigo moaned, slightly afraid.

Kenpachi licked Ichigo's lips, casually asking for permission that was denied him. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," Ichigo panted. "Get the hell off of me."

The older shinigami leant back slightly but did not unclasp Ichigo's jaw. He slid completely to his knees, so that Ichigo was forced to tilt forward with his thighs hanging off the edge of the couch, and pressed their chests together. "Nope," he whispered before sealing his lips fully over Ichigo's. The power of his strokes intensified until Ichigo was compelled to harden.

Ichigo ripped his mouth away, burying it in his shoulder. "I'm serious. I don't want this."

"That's not what your body is telling me."

"Bastard. I'm… once I get my sword I'm going to put you in so much pain you can't walk for days."

"Fine," Kenpachi said, "but it'll have to wait until after I do the exact same thing to you." He chuckled haughtily when Ichigo's face reddened.

"I hate you for this. Please, _please_ let me go. This won't affect anything other than the marginal respect I had for you."

"No, because now you know how it feels."

Ichigo curved his back in an attempt to wriggle out of Kenpachi's distant embrace, only serving to increase the friction between their bodies. Groaning, his proud captor nudged Ichigo's legs open with his own hip and moved between them.

"Feels? What do you m—"

The sound of humming drew gradually closer until the entrance to Kenpachi's rooms slammed open, filling the room with morning light. They paused and squinted into the sunshine, gaping at a shock of pink hair as Yachiru skipped into the room.

"Ken-chan! Ichi! Whatcha guys…doing?"

Kenpachi instinctively withdrew his hand from Ichigo's pants and loosened his grip enough to free Ichigo, who immediately scurried away from the larger shinigami. He watched as Ichigo stood on shaky legs to collect his things.

Yachiru glanced between the two males. "Ichi, are you okay?" she asked seriously.

"We were just fighting again, Yachiru. Sorry for being a bother." With that, Ichigo strapped his zanpakutō on and absconded as fast as his legs would carry him. Kenpachi, still kneeling, could do nothing but stare, words forming too slowly on his lips to call after the redhead.

"What," he snarled after a moment, "the hell, Yachiru? I was _this_ close to recruiting him! He would have said yes! He would have been ours!"

"Ours?" she chirped.

"Yeah, a part of the squad."

Yachiru had straightened her posture the moment Ichigo was out of sight. Childish, blossom-colored hair flanked a young face, only the stern glare betraying her age. "Kenpachi, you're an idiot."

Kenpachi opened his mouth to speak, but was promptly cut off by a painful kick to his shin. Normally a physical attack wouldn't even faze him, but unfortunately his attacker was the one person who was well enough acquainted with his weak spots to do so. Clutching his foot, he sat down on the couch and scowled at Yachiru.

"Don't look at me like that; you deserved it."

"What the hell for?"

"Again, for being an idiot," the tiny woman admonished. "Ichigo had no idea what you were thinking, and you would have regretted sleeping with him later."

Kenpachi found humor in her words. Face contorting in a grin, he licked his lips. "I doubt it would have been that bad."

"Oh?"

"I don't see how any sane man could regret fucking berryhead."

Yachiru's expression darkened. "Then you obviously aren't sane, Kenpachi," she said with venom. "I was giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you were caught up in the moment after trying to use sex as a form of recruitment—an idea obviously only a man could think plausible—but apparently you have no consideration for others."

"I don't know what you mean," Kenpachi said, perplexed. "It would have just been once and it wouldn't have been rape. I'd have made it nice for 'im."

Yachiru seemed about ready to kill her captain, but something in his face made her regard him more kindly.

"Kenpachi, I don't think you understand. Look at me." He complied, watching as she did a twirl. "How old do I seem on first impression?"

"Five."

"Yet in terms of eternity I'm not much younger than you, as evidenced by our conversation matter. Now, how old does Ichi look? About as old as Ikkaku?"

"Maybe a little younger but that's understandable because Ikkaku's decades…oh."

"Do you understand now?" asked Yachiru cutely, reverting to her usual self.

"He's still nineteen, though!"

Yachiru's face fell.

"Ichigo may _seem_ as though he's had years of training to mature his skills and mind, but mentally he's a child and to death, a newborn. Randomly taking his virginity would mean a lot more to him than you."

"But-"

"Unless you plan on taking things slowly or waiting, say, twenty years, I am going to stop you from claiming him. There is too much of an age difference for him to accept you based on sex alone. And we exist too long to screw relationships up." She looked him in the eye, and then smiled keenly. "Kenpachi, do you love Ichigo?"

"Where'd that come from? Of course not."

All of Yachiru's (and half of eleventh squad's, to be honest) suspicions went down the drain, along with her hopes. "Then I will not let you damage Ichigo if there won't be a relationship. I'll see you later, Kenpachi."

"The hell? Wait, why are you leaving?"

"I said bye, Ken-_chan_." Yachiru fled without any further response, leaving Kenpachi unnervingly isolated. He stared at his hands.

"Love somebody? That'd never happen… I think. Probably not. God damnit."


	3. Chapter 3 Not the Same

_Chapter Three_

The impact of Ichigo's light footsteps generated no sound; his strides soon became so furiously fast-paced that the meetings of sandals and rooftops were brief and impersonal. Buildings faded out of view with such speed that had Ichigo cared to look, he would have been still unable to determine where he was going. He was deliriously hurried in his confusion, the result of wanting to put distance between himself and _that guy._

A sigh escaped him. Running wouldn't do much good, as it was clear by now that his molester wasn't making chase. After all, Ichigo figured, even Kenp—the guy he'd spent the morning with wouldn't try making a move in the blindingly bright hours preceding noon. At least not outside, as the shadow of a blush that graced Ichigo's cheeks argued. Inside was another matter; the teenager would be sure to never be caught alone with the eleventh squad's captain until his own position in sixth squad was solidified. After that, the older man would know that such outlandish and frankly unwelcome attempts at persuasion would be wasted.

Because there was no way—not a _chance_ in hell—that romantic advances could be genuine when coming from a man like Zaraki Kenpachi.

The same Zaraki Kenpachi that had not bothered to chase after Ichigo. The last twenty-four hours now felt like a meaningless, trivial game.

With a glance over his shoulder, Ichigo slowed to a trot and jumped onto the street, a hand still gripping the rim of his pants to keep them on. In his hurry, he had neglected to tighten the sash and fix his clothing. He sincerely hoped he didn't appear as disheveled and humiliated as he felt.

Slipping around a shaded corner, Ichigo looked around before arranging his outfit to be more presentable. Sweat could be blamed on exercise and the summer heat whereas an unfastened belt could not. Cheeks still stained red, it only took a moment for Ichigo to compose his appearance. When satisfied, he reintroduced his feet to the shingled roofs of Seireitei, where it became a simpler matter for him to remain aware of his surroundings when going slowly. He was definitely an easier target, but in addition he'd have more warning because of the open view. More warning could be the difference between punctuality and missing the training because he had an uninvited hand thrust down his pants.

Ichigo skidded to an abrupt halt. _Shit shit shit oh god._ He wouldn't stoop so low as to claim he'd dreamed about something like that, but had it really been reality? Ichigo didn't know if he could ever look Kenpachi in the eye again. He knew it was inescapable; unless he left Seireitei to live a pathetic afterlife as a nomad, it would be impossible for Ichigo to avoid the maniacal captain for more than about three days, let alone centuries. He was _dead _now. Being dead, with no family and not a thing to his name, changed everything.

His only hope was to continue wishing that Kenpachi was just a heartless bastard who didn't think anything of using sex as a tool, and move on.

Ichigo made it back to sixth division with no complications. He was both surprised and thankful that Kenpachi _still_ had refrained from following Ichigo, kicking his ass, and then doing other things that Ichigo told himself he didn't want to think about. It was peculiar, and Ichigo wasn't sure whether he should think better or worse of the man for it.

_I'd prefer to think poorly of the baka_, Ichigo thought as he looked for the room he should have slept in the night before. It took a while to find.

The door slid shyly open when Ichigo nudged it with his foot. He heard a rustle of cloth before a heavy body slammed into his, knocking him into the ground.

_Kenpachi?!_

"Damnit Ichigo, where were you? You missed two meals after _promising _me I could introduce you to the rest of the squad while we ate."

Ichigo looked blearily into the pissed-off face of his tattooed friend—now superior—Abarai Renji. Grunting, he confusedly shoved the angry man off of him. What was it about being dead that allowed him to be taken by surprise?

He decided to go with a half-truth. Renji had a right to know where he was, but he'd never live it down if the hotheaded shinigami had any idea what Kenpachi had done exactly. "After I spoke to you, Ke- _Zaraki _cornered me—"

"Into a fight? Just say no!"

"Let me finish," Ichigo continued, glaring. "He snuck up on me and wrapped a hand around my throat. It was stupid of me to get too comfortable, I got that. I'll kill you if you say anything to Kuchiki-taichou. Anyway, I passed out and Kenpachi dragged me back to his place. After I woke up he spent all morning trying to recruit me and I eventually got away. Now here I am."

"That has got to be the lamest story I've heard in years."

Ichigo punched Renji on the arm. "I know, but it's true."

"I didn't say I didn't believe you. It's just insanely stupid."

They stared at each other for the longest of moments until Ichigo's lips couldn't help but quirk. Crossing his long legs on the floor, he got comfortable and took a look around. The room was medium-sized and suitable for two people, two bare walls flanking one with a small window. The last side was crowded with a lockable, sliding door and twin bureaus. Storage space was sparse but truthfully unnecessary in a room that housed uniformed officers; Ichigo's days of casual clothing were on pause until all his living friends were gone from earth.

The recognizably deceased were not permitted to walk the streets of humanity.

Ichigo winced at his own thoughts. "Which bed is mine?"

Renji eyed Ichigo's face carefully before sighing and pointing to the right of the room. "Since you weren't here last night I just went ahead and picked one."

"Thanks… hey Renji?"

"Hn?"

"Why did you leave your old room to share one with me?"

"The latest goal of the shinigami women's society is to color code Kuchiki-taichou's men by hair. Orange was the closest thing to red."

Ichigo's strained expression clearly asked for Renji to take things seriously.

"Okay, okay." The other redhead collapsed on his own bed, crinkling the sheets. One arm propping up his head, he lounged on his side, facing Ichigo. "Ichigo, you're… unique."

"Thanks?"

"I'm not talking about your skills, because practically everyone knows about them. I mean that you're the only human to have fully awakened their spiritual powers while still alive. When you… when you _died_ and wandered here after not being able to reenter your body, no one was sure what would happen."

"Why's that?"

"Most souls tend to pass on immediately and lose at least most of their memories; some even start over as babies and have to find families. The ones that spend time haunting earth come to Soul Society with vague impressions and memories of certain people they met. You're different because your soul, your _actual_ soul, experienced things while it had a body to return to. All of your memories from life are intact. Kuchiki-taichou spoke to me while you were checking out Rukia's squad and ordered me to prepare a room for us. But Ichigo, I would have done it anyway."

Ichigo ran a clammy hand through his hair. "What are you rambling on about, Renji?"

"I don't remember a single thing about my family or friends," Renji said pensively, fingering the edge of a blanket. "My earliest memory is of me waking by the side of a dirt road in Rukongai, ready to give anything for a drink of water. There was nothing to chain me to a previous life. Ichigo, believe me when I say that I'm really, truly happy that your memories of Rukia and me didn't die with your body. We wouldn't be able to bear it. But we also won't even risk you wasting away because you miss your family. I'm here to help you adapt."

"You didn't have to sacrifice your lieutenant's quarters… you could have just, you know, eaten lunch with me or something."

"Nights in a new place are surprisingly unbearable when you have no one."

Ichigo did not voice his gratitude, but the sentiment was obvious in the way his shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you," he said honestly.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Ichigo was in much better spirits after enjoying a long lunch with Renji. The other redhead took his job as a lieutenant seriously, drilling rules into Ichigo's head just as animatedly as he introduced squad members. Ichigo knew most of Seireitei's basics already, but he was thankful for Renji's attention to detail when several specific policies for sixth squad came up. Without Renji, he was convinced, Ichigo would have been doomed to make one mistake after another.

The new full-time shinigami was accepted enthusiastically into the fold. While it would take some time to memorize everyone's names, Ichigo had immediately recognized several men from his days as a substitute. He looked forward to making new friends, having decided to miss but not mourn his old ones; he was fortunate to still have Renji and Rukia, after all.

Feeling better about his situation, it wasn't long until Ichigo waved his goodbyes and followed other new recruits out of the cafeteria. Together the group was led by a senior officer to sixth squad's training area, where they would be inducted and receive their first training exercise. For a regulated enclosure, the spot was surprisingly open and welcoming. The gate swinging shut behind them carried a note of finality but did not detract from the overall beauty of having a blue sky stretching in all directions.

Ichigo kept his posture properly rigid during the initiation. The ceremony was deceptively formal in speech and feeling, only the bustle of sound outside the walls keeping everyone grounded to reality. Ichigo's chest swelled with pride when his name was called. There was no distinction in the sound, and for the first time Ichigo realized what it truly meant to be part of a team. He had fought side-by-side with others to win a war, but never before had he been treated as anything other than a rarity. He allowed his eyes to drift over the men and women lined up on either side of him. They were the people he could now call comrades, people who perhaps one day in the future he would willingly give his life for. He was no different from any of them.

He was just Kurosaki Ichigo, lowest-ranking military dog of the Gotei 13. The realization was pleasing.

Ichigo spent the next three hours practicing with the small group, which he learned would remain intact for a solid year while everyone adjusted. The various drills showcased his raw strength and agility, but it soon became apparent that he was not suited for fighting on a small scale. Months of war had familiarized the orange-haired shinigami with fighting for his life against many, possibly hundreds, of strong foes. Ichigo was itching to use his bankai form, if only to feel the pulse of reiatsu against his skin. He'd never had easy days. From the start, it was impossibility after impossibility, requiring Ichigo to grow at accelerated speeds and use his head.

Stripped of Zangetsu and faced with a stationary dummy, Ichigo was truly at a loss.

"Something the matter, Kurosaki?" his superior asked of him.

"Um…" Ichigo could only muster up confusion. The tiny, wooden Hollow several meters away stared at him vacantly. He half-expected it to gallop towards him in obvious bloodlust; instead, it just sat there. "What should I do?"

"Just shoot a hadou at it like the others did."

"I don't know any kidou," Ichigo said uneasily, aware of all the eyes on him. He received many looks of shock. Hanging his head, he stepped away from the line and made to allow the next person a turn, but his arm was grabbed.

"How can you not know any kidou? All new recruits must be at least proficient in standard spells before they are allowed to accept assignments."

"But Genryuusai-dono said…"

"Regardless of what the captain commander contends," the superior officer said boldly, looking down his nose at Ichigo, "in sixth squad you will be a dead weight to your comrades if you cannot attack, or even _bind_, an enemy once you lose your zanpakutō. If by this time next week you cannot adequately perform bakudou one through five and hadou one through ten, I am convincing Kuchiki-taichou to enroll you in training school."

Ichigo's face flushed in both mortification and anger. "The academy? You'd send someone who battled the Espada there because they can't electrocute a wooden doll?"

"Yes. Yes, I would, actually."

Ichigo tried and failed to free his arm from the death grip of the not amused man. Others observed silently as he struggled against the older, blond shinigami, who was obviously used to physical fighting and did not give an inch.

"That's not fair," Ichigo argued. "I have experience." He hated to use his 'fame' in such a situation, but it seemed necessary to point out.

"If you only planned on chopping things up then you should have joined eleventh squad; not everyone can be like Zaraki Kenpachi. You need well-rounded skills."

To Ichigo, dropping the name so casually had the same effect as a bucket of cold water dumped unexpectedly on his head. All the raw uncertainty from that morning finally caught up to him. Paranoid, his eyes darted everywhere as he wilted slightly. "I'm not anything like Zaraki," Ichigo snarled through gritted teeth.

"It doesn't matter. I am this group's supervisor, and I have instructions to prepare new members of sixth division for the years ahead. I suggest you do not disappoint me, or you're out."

Ichigo glared with all he had, but the look lost its effectiveness as he considered the people watching. He was already embarrassed, and trying to use his battle record as a tool was not only underhanded, it implied he thought he was better. He didn't want to distinguish himself from teammates.

"S-sure."

"My name is Hayashi Yuu, Kurosaki. Say it correctly."

"I will be ready, Hayashi-sama. Please treat me kindly."

"That'll do."

Ichigo finished the evening in a daze, hating that his days in Seireitei were always so defined by opposites.


	4. Chapter 4 Intent

_Chapter Four_

A feint to the left was all it took for the Hollow to fall dead to the ground. It was pathetic, really, but Kenpachi had no pity to spare for the vapid, depressingly bad fighting style of the thing he had just hacked to pieces. For the first time in a long while, Kenpachi did not have a grin smeared all over his face as the blood of a defeated enemy stained his blade. Receiving no genuine pleasure, he licked his dry lips out of habit, even as they turned downward in a displeased frown. The captain's face was arid and dry with not a single bead of sweat to disrupt his features.

War—_Ichigo—_had given Zaraki Kenpachi a taste of true excitement. He couldn't live without it anymore, he just couldn't. Flicking the evidence of his kill from his zanpakutō, the bloodthirsty man sighed and turned to race through a dense crowd of trees; branched limbs clung to his clothing in desperation, doing the damage that his earlier battle had failed to do. Bushes that had been allowed to straggle across the path mimicked hands as they tore at him. He ignored the inconsequential pain in favor of hurrying to his squad's forest station. Ikkaku and Yachiru were already there, looking more or less exactly like they had an hour previously. Kenpachi was usually the only one to completely decimate his own clothing during an exercise.

He spat at the ground and joined them. "Where's Yumichika?"

Yachiru ran at the larger man and jumped, throwing her arms around his neck the moment she landed firmly on his broad back. Kenpachi barely felt it. "Eyebrow-san is watching the new kids take down a pack. I guess they're behind schedule."

Kenpachi scowled. "Tch, they all suck," he said heatedly. "Ichigo reached bankai level in a shorter time than it took all of them to graduate from that sissy school of theirs. If he were here he'd—"

Ikkaku cut off his captain with a barked laugh. He was crouched, arms resting on covered knees, several feet away with his back to a large log. A wide, teasing smirk split his face.

"You've done nothing but pine after him since he died last week."

"I am not _pining_." A slight giggling sound made him twist his neck to see Yachiru. "I'm _not!_"

His tiny, pink-haired shadow rolled her eyes at Kenpachi. "Who did you take back to your rooms and watch over because you were so happy he was alive?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Who would you trade the last five years' worth of recruits for?"

"Ichigo; any captain would do the same. He's worth more than half of Seireitei combined."

"Who did you rant about that night you actually got drunk?" added Ikkaku.

"…Ichigo."

"And who do you pine for?" The two interrogators spoke in unison.

Kenpachi was ready for that one. "Stop making me sound like a fuckin' woman."

Ikkaku made a face, head glinting in the sunlight.

"Someone," he drawled, "is being defensive."

"See that tree? Good. Now, try to imagine how many seconds it would take for me to jam it so far up your ass that you can't move for years." Kenpachi's bells jingled in warning.

"That would be impressive and all, but isn't there another ass out there that you'd rather be playing w—"

Kenpachi displayed no sign of movement and to the casual viewer the nearest oak would have appeared to have fallen by its own volition if not for the clean cut slashed through its monstrously thick trunk. The unforgiving rigidity of Kenpachi's contempt-filled eyes also made it rather clear that the occurrence was no freak accident of nature.

"For the last damn time I do not fuckin' like him! I've been telling you all week that I made a mistake. A _mistake_."

Ikkaku looked wary, but not convinced. Yachiru had given him the basic details from Ichigo's short stay with the captain, and previous suspicions prevented him from letting the matter go. It was just too funny.

"And don't… don't talk about Ichigo like that," Kenpachi said hotly. His already infamous temper was stretched to its limit; he was bored, frustrated, and sick of all the teasing. His sword was traded rapidly between palms, as though he was trying to decide which hand to use. A voice in the back of Ikkaku's head feared it would end up being both.

Yachiru must have felt similarly because she wasted no time in fisting Kenpachi's spiked hair and yanking it harshly to redirect his attention. "Baldy," she calmly commanded, "I want you to go help supervise the recruits' mission. The captain and I are going to have a much needed discussion about anger management."

Ikkaku seemed both intrigued and frozen by the overwhelming reiatsu of his leader.

"Now."

The bald man finally nodded and backed out of the area. He never truly feared Kenpachi, as his admiration was much too strong, but on the other hand the crazed man was wildly unpredictable. It was probably a good idea to get out of there. "Understood, lieutenant."

Yachiru slipped nimbly from Kenpachi's shoulders to land lightly on the grass. Her companion's expression was one of irritation and disorder as he tried to suppress his murderous intent; smooth muscles were still tensed underneath his hakama.

"Ken-chan."

"What now?!"

"I never said you couldn't visit Ichigo," Yachiru chirped, smiling sweetly, "because I know he's your precious little friend. I just don't want you carrying him off into the night to ruin any future chance of a relationship by practically raping him."

There were too many uncomfortable truths hanging in the air for Kenpachi to address them all; he didn't honestly want to, either. He did not consider Ichigo to be a friend, did he? The smaller redhead was just a nice piece of ass that knew his way around a battlefield, and was the bravest kid Kenpachi had ever met, and was admittedly rather adorable when sleeping, and…

And he considered Ichigo his. Knowing that the beautiful boy was within his reach but willingly a part of another squad was a painful blow to suffer.

Kenpachi ran a hand through his belled, black hair. He had no idea how he had ended up in such a messed up situation. For gods' sake, he was Zaraki Kenpachi. "Then why are you insisting on pestering me about it? You already made yourself very clear that I was not to touch him. Besides, he's gone now. I have no interest in anything other than fighting him," he tried telling the childish-looking woman.

Yachiru's eyes shone with the understanding that only she was allowed, earned from many decades of being glued to the side of the man before her.

"Because this is the closest you've ever come to liking someone."

"I like you," he defended.

"Not in the way you like Ichigo. That would be yucky." Yachiru stuck out her tongue in playful disgust.

Kenpachi drowned her out as he tried to ignore the heavy realization settling in the bottom of his stomach. His chest also felt tight, but he attributed it to the hatred he felt at being continuously bothered by his own comrades about Ichigo. He couldn't deny he wanted to fuck the gorgeous kid, or that he enjoyed his company, but the day Zaraki Kenpachi ever fell into something as stupid as love was certainly centuries away.

"This is a pointless conversation," he said, "and you have a meeting to go to." The captain stomped past his pouting lieutenant, finally sheathing his zanpakutō. Chary hands slipped over one of his shoulders when Yachiru reclaimed her usual spot.

Nothing more was said.

* * *

The pair separated when they made it back to Seireitei because Yachiru had a shinigami women's society meeting to run. Kenpachi usually walked with her most of the way and then picked her up later, but like always the meeting would take place in some obscure location that would serve to annoy Kuchiki Byakuya; as things stood, Kenpachi wanted to avoid sixth division at all costs. He watched the giggling sprite skip away.

The intimidating man was at a loss for what to do once she left. He wasn't particularly close with any of the other captains, and he usually paid minimal attention to the members of his own squad when off the clock. They weren't worth his time. Since Yumichika was busy babysitting, along with a certain bald man he was pissed at, Kenpachi sighed and settled for taking a nap until Yachiru was finished with her duties as president. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. The ever growing mound of paperwork in his office was pushed out of mind.

He took his time walking back to his rooms, pausing every so often to stop and laugh at various squads training. Only a handful of young shinigami caught his interest, the rest so useless that Kenpachi was reminded why he hated the few weeks after the annual influx of graduates from the academy. Had Ichigo not died around the same time, Kenpachi might have had a shot at recruiting the insanely powerful boy; instead, Ichigo was clumped together with the masses after being allowed a choice. It infuriated Kenpachi. Ichigo was supposed to be special.

Finding that it somewhat alleviated his boredom, Kenpachi continued wandering around various training grounds instead of heading straight home. He even managed to find some sincere amusement in just how _bad_ newcomers could be.

It wasn't until half an hour later that Kenpachi realized watching new recruits might not have been such a fantastic idea. Wondering why he hadn't noticed it before, he froze in his steps when he felt the surge of a familiar reiatsu wash over him. The sensation was sudden, paralyzing Kenpachi with the same panic the unexpected focus of a spotlight might provide. He swiveled in blind shock. Just as quickly as it came, the flood of reiatsu relented, but Kenpachi was aware of its presence now; immediately he was able to pinpoint the location of the one shinigami his thoughts always inevitably drifted to.

Kenpachi balked, ready to bolt in the opposite direction. He wasn't prepared to face Ichigo in a rational manner just yet, for he knew the moment he saw that striking, kind face, his more visceral impulses would take over.

The throb of reiatsu fluctuated again, rising and falling as though trying to bring Kenpachi to his knees. He refused to submit to the invisible force. All around him people walked by aimlessly, obviously unaffected, and Kenpachi tried to be like them by ignoring the pounding in his head. He wondered why he always seemed to be the only one so in sync with Ichigo's spiritual power.

The desire to steal a glimpse of Ichigo finally overwhelmed Kenpachi. Surreptitiously, so as to avoid catching Ichigo's attention, he made his way to the roof of a building that allowed a clear view of the area the orange-haired shinigami was in. He frowned upon observing that Ichigo was separated from the rest of his teammates, who were all lined up and gawking as the teenager stood by his lonesome many meters away. Ichigo was by the standard-issue Hollow replica that all struggling newcomers were often forced to face when they couldn't handle real enemies. Kenpachi bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from protesting that the situation was an outrage, a direct mockery of the war hero that had greatly contributed to the downfall of Aizen. It was ridiculous that Ichigo, of all people, should ever have to even glance at a training doll.

His confusion was alleviated to some extent when Ichigo pressed his thin hands together and chanted. Like earlier the sensory nerves in Kenpachi's body screamed, announcing the change in Ichigo's reiatsu; this time the variation was explained by the flash of light that poured from the teenager's body and assaulted the pseudo-Hollow. The wooden figure twisted in mock pain, its limbs contorting grotesquely in response to an apparent bakudou technique. The bind continued to tighten and tighten and _tighten_ until with a resounding crack the Hollow, unable to withstand the pressure, split at all of its joints. As the thing collapsed in a splintered heap onto the dirt ground, Kenpachi stared at Ichigo in renewed awe. The boy was practically glistening with sweat, hair sticking to the pale skin of his forehead. He looked absolutely stunning.

He also looked exceedingly heartbroken at the feat he had just accomplished.

"I-I'm sorry," Kenpachi heard Ichigo stutter. The words escaped his panting mouth in a single breath. "Please let me move on to the next one."

"No. You will keep trying until you succeed at something other than making a fool of sixth division."

Kenpachi's gaze shifted to the prudish-looking, blond shinigami that stood several feet away from Ichigo. The man's face was twisted in an ugly sneer, upper lip curling towards a nose that, while still relatively small, was large and awkward on his narrow features. Altogether he was not incredibly unattractive, but the air of self-importance he sustained while looking down at Ichigo made his features unpleasant to see. Kenpachi thought the man entirely too full of himself.

Ichigo nodded his head exhaustedly. Knees threatening to buckle, he joined his hands for what would be the forty-second time that day. So far during his testing he had been required to repeat every one of his newly learned kidou until only channeling the proper amount of reiatsu, and after the first successful few he only got worse; drained of energy, he was no longer able to limit his power. Letting the spell fly, Ichigo groaned in disappointment when he massacred another model with a simple binding spell. The stares of pity from the crowd made him flinch.

His team's supervisor, Hayashi Yuu, cleared his throat. "I think we've seen enough, Kurosaki."

"No, please," Ichigo gasped, trying to catch his breath. Even from his hiding spot Kenpachi could hear the desperation in his voice. It made him wonder why there was so much drama going on because of a simple bakudou. Hell, Kenpachi was a captain and he couldn't even do a single one. "I know I can do this. Lieutenant Abarai helped me and I—"

"I refuse. Through your inability to cast the simplest of kidou you continue to be a danger and dead weight to your comrades. I find that I must enroll you in the next semester at the academy which, _conveniently_, happens to start in another week. Thankfully you won't have to wait too terribly long and will rejoin us in a few years. How… lovely," Hayashi said with a note of finality.

Ichigo's face flushed in shame and disbelief. How dare this… this pompous _bastard_ tell him, after he had spent all week practicing, that he wasn't good enough! Kenpachi's sentiment mirrored his exactly, and the scarred man bared his teeth predatorily. The sniveling little blond man was a fool for alienating someone as brilliant as Ichigo, who had defeated his current squad's captain at a mere fifteen years of age. The only possible explanation was that the idiot was jealous of Ichigo, and had vented by trying to make the still adapting teenager feel insignificant. By the look of things, the plan was working. Kenpachi's blood boiled.

When Kenpachi saw Ichigo, his lovely Ichigo, stare dejectedly at the ground and bow in compliance, something snapped. In a single moment he forgot about any warring emotions that plagued him, even the resolve to leave Ichigo be like Yachiru had vaguely suggested, and decided that he'd do anything to make things right in the younger male's world.

Kenpachi fell silently to the ground, so gently that he barely disturbed the air. Careful to avoid notice until the last minute, he used shunpo to approach the group until he was a few feet behind Ichigo. It was exhilarating to be so close to the redhead again, but he forced himself to focus completely on the blond supervisor, who had taken a step back in shock when he detected the presence of Seireitei's most brutal captain. Ichigo must have seen the shadow that fell over him, because he also stiffened, rising from his bow but not daring to turn.

"Yo," Kenpachi said simply.


	5. Chapter 5 Control

_Chapter Five_

A week of snide, well-timed remarks had Ichigo feeling the most helpless he had ever been.

Even the moment Aizen discarded his smile for a smirk and ascended to the heavens like a god could not compare; Ichigo had been physically overpowered back then, a fact he wasn't proud of but could accept. He had been fooled, fooled just like the scores of shinigami that had known the deceptively warm captain well but not well enough for decades. There had been nothing _anyone_ could do but stare as the man proudly claimed an empty kingdom. The subjection came naturally. Similarly, there was not any value in considering the pure powerlessness of a warrior clashing swords with an enemy he instinctively realized was smarter and stronger, or Ichigo's fear every time he sank into the depths of subconscious reality, Hollow side taking control. Such situations only pushed the human mind to the brink and back, forcing a man to make up for what he lacked; to raise his sights and fight again.

Ichigo knew better than anyone the lengths he would personally go to for victory. Time, time and again, he defied all sense of logic by becoming more than anyone could have expected. He had done the impossible. He had pushed the limits.

He had won a war.

He had known how to keep living when his every step took him closer to death. He didn't, however, know how to ease the rage he was currently feeling towards his supervisor. Unlike past situations, his current predicament had nothing to do with physical prowess. Replaying the last week in his mind, Ichigo bitterly realized that the hindrance of having a higher-ranking officer contradicting his every move was not unlike something from his human days, when as a student Ichigo was powerless to challenge a teacher, but it was magnified to an illogical extreme. After all, a man that held his future would always be right, even when clearly in the wrong. Ichigo did not like the raw fear he felt every time he made a mistake. He felt inadequate.

The painful truth was that although Ichigo could beat the man within inches of his life with the single swing of a blade, there was absolutely nothing he could actually do. Despite everything he was, Ichigo could not talk back to Hayashi Yuu, and the older man knew it. The ever watchful eyes on his back were only thinly veiled with kindness.

Ichigo sighed in defeat, a growing recognition of failure wrenching in his gut. Sweat clouded his vision so effectively that his wooden victim was only a hazy blur as he murdered it with one of the novice-level binding spells Renji had worked so hard to teach him. When alone with the vice-captain, his kidou had been nowhere near perfect, but had earned an approving nod all the same. Ichigo's test should have been short and to the point.

_Why…why isn't it?_ Ichigo wondered, acquiescing to Hayashi's monotone commands that he try over and over again. As if in answer, another Hollow doll collapsed under the force of Ichigo's spell. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to limit the power. Ichigo felt his reiatsu react violently, cocooning his tired body as though aiming to protect him from the stares. One after another the Hollows slowly fell, painted grins so morbid that they suggested the fading presence of life. Ichigo knew otherwise; feeling the splinters pierce his legs, he shifted his weight.

The day was at its hottest when Ichigo finally realized that he had been expecting favoritism.

Feeling ready to cry but still enough of a man to keep calm, Ichigo lowered his sword arm, only halfhearted in his attempts to convince Hayashi that he was worthy of a second chance. The blonde man refused and that was that. The entire affair was too terribly anticlimactic for a teen whose entire existence was so defined by excitement.

Ichigo counted to ten in his head before tightening his jaw and bowing. As his head dipped, his gaze roamed over the wooden carnage his failure left behind. The only thing missing was blood.

For not the first time in his life, Ichigo longed for the pleasurable stain of red.

Still obediently bent over, a sudden flood of reiatsu made the hairs on his neck stand on end. His eyes widened in dread. During his time as a shinigami Ichigo had discovered that while some reiatsu were as simple and bland as their owners, others possessed personality and were impossible to mistake. Ichigo knew it was Kenpachi the instant he felt the familiar itch of awareness in the back of his mind. The spoken greeting was redundant to Ichigo's ears.

"Yo."

Ichigo tensed. Straightening, the orange-haired teenager swallowed nervously, eyes flickering everywhere in a panic as he tried to decide what the _hell_ to do. It was easy enough to run from Kenpachi in the streets of Seireitei, but in a crowd, simple matters became not so simple. What was Kenpachi even doing there? Ichigo was already part of a—

Wait, no. Ichigo was technically an academy student now, or at least he would be. Ichigo's mind raced. He could not let Kenpachi find out, because Kenpachi was… Kenpachi had…

His face flushed.

Ichigo was content to ignore Kenpachi, secure in the knowledge that military etiquette deemed him unworthy of answering such a familiar greeting that could likely be aimed at his superior. He was Ichigo. He was the kid whose bankai didn't matter because he couldn't perform a level one spell properly. He was nobody important.

Back turned to Kenpachi, Ichigo shuffled miserably over to the gathering of his ex-teammates while Hayashi narrowed his brown eyes and stammered a response that Ichigo couldn't quite catch. The teenager wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel; the rest of his body was too soaked to clean simply, so he reasoned that without a proper shower it was a lost cause. Not that it really mattered. Ichigo would probably just wash up and sleep when he got back to the room he shared with Renji, which would only be his for another week.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do, now that he was a reject. Ichigo kicked his bag briefly, surprised when it skidded, leaving a trail on the dirty ground, until slamming against the nearest wall. Embarrassed, he flash-stepped to retrieve it and was back in an instant, hoping against hope that no one had noticed. The other recruits were too awed by the sight of Kenpachi to care, but Ichigo still felt an eye on his back. It didn't take a genius to guess whose it was.

Purposefully avoiding the interested stare, Ichigo wandered back over to Hayashi and bowed again. "Thank you for your instruction, Hayashi-sama," he said in forced civility. "I enjoyed learning from you."

Hayashi smiled widely, teeth managing to flash despite the fact that the tightness of his face implied a struggle to remain cordial. He nodded to Ichigo. "I will personally see to it that your forms are given to the right people by the end of the week. Just show up on day one and they'll provide a schedule."

"That is very kind of you, sir," Ichigo muttered under his breath.

"Indeed. Now, what is it you needed from me, Zaraki-taichou?"

Ichigo did not even bother glancing at Kenpachi as he walked away. Depression was starting to sink in, a sentiment that Ichigo told himself didn't have any right to exist. He deserved this. Soul Society did not need a shinigami that could not fend for himself when without a weapon. Hayashi was completely right; Ichigo would be worthless in such a situation. The many eyes on his back as he walked away only served to further the realization.

He slowed slightly when he heard Kenpachi speak.

"You? I don't give a shit about you," the captain slurred. His words were just loud enough to ensure that not a single person in the enclosure missed them. Hayashi's face darkened and his smile wilted marginally. "No, I'm here for Ichigo. I haven't had a chance to fight him since he became legitimate."

Hayashi stiffened. "I'm afraid I can't let you—"

"You see, there's no one else worth anything," Kenpachi stressed, "in the area, and I've been wanting to see if he can kick my ass again. If the brat was captain-level when he was a substitute, I can't imagine what he's like now, especially now that he has a bankai."

Several of Ichigo's teammates appeared interested in that tidbit of news. It was moderately well-known that Ichigo had participated in the war against Aizen, but only a handful, those that had fought alongside him, knew the extent of his skills. Their eyes all shifted to Ichigo, who had turned to stare at Kenpachi curiously.

Ichigo's eyebrows furrowed. What was Kenpachi doing? To the best of his knowledge, Kenpachi would probably still desire to have Ichigo in his own squad. Seduction had obviously failed—a memory that made Ichigo cringe—and although Ichigo had just been effectively kicked out of sixth division, Kenpachi probably wasn't aware of that. Maybe he genuinely did want a quickie.

Battle, that is. Ichigo berated his own stupidity for fearing that Kenpachi could possibly be there for anything else. Kenpachi was not someone to easily give up, but the sexual assault of a week prior had simply been the whim of an insane man. It had failed, and that was that. Now Ichigo had to fear Kenpachi for only the raw power the man possessed, and the mad glint in his exposed, creased eye. Ichigo's hand shot instinctively to the hilt of Zangetsu.

He was more than happy for a chance to blow off some steam.

Kenpachi grinned at the action. Wetting his lips, he ignored Hayashi's complaining in favor of slowly stalking towards the boy he happily considered his eternal prey. Neither male bothered to contain the reiatsu that couldn't help but leak of out them. Kenpachi's torn shihakusho fluttered as he walked. A hush fell over the transfixed onlookers, and for a beautiful moment everything seemed just short of perfect. Perfection was reached when sandaled feet parted with the ground in sync.

Hayashi nearly tripped over himself as he stumbled to get out of the way. His voice was lost in the clamor of clashing swords, and any attempts to usher his squad out of the training area fell on deaf ears. For many of the onlookers, it was the first real battle they had ever witnessed, as small scale as it was. There was no denying the experienced grace that laced Ichigo's every move. The young shinigami easily matched Kenpachi's speed.

Kenpachi laughed when his zanpakutō grazed a slender thigh. Small cuts appeared in every part of Ichigo's clothing, and the cackling captain fared no better. He wondered why other squads would sometimes question the pleasure he drew from seeing blood spill. There were many who fought because they were shinigami and would never understand that people like Kenpachi—and Ichigo—were shinigami _because_ they could fight. He was currently face to face with the only person that would ever understand him, and it felt wonderful. Ichigo was wonderful.

He switched his nameless blade between hands and swung wildly, chaotic in power but still mindful to avoid Ichigo's vital organs. Ichigo gave as good as he got; narrowly avoiding a blow with a quick sidestep, he summoned a small amount of energy in his right hand and aimed it directly at Kenpachi's chest. Kenpachi gasped when it sent him flying backwards, and just barely managed to right his footing in time to block an unwrapped Zangetsu. Ichigo was ten feet away and had one end of the cloth swathe wrapped around his wrists. Scowling, he tried to pull his zanpakutō back towards him, but Kenpachi was too quick. Numb to the long slash he inflicted on his own forearm, Kenpachi smirked, reaching past the comically oversized weapon to grip the bit of cloth directly past Zangetsu's hilt. He tugged.

Eyes wide, Ichigo could do nothing to stop himself from falling smack against Kenpachi's chest. The older man seemed unfazed by the collision, but for some reason tensed his body in a wince. Ichigo stepped back and frowned up at him.

Kenpachi's arms wrapped around the teen in a candid mockery of an embrace. Ichigo squirmed, trying in vain to free his arms from where they were trapped between their bodies.

The spiky-haired captain leaned down. "Bind me."

Ichigo started.

"Bind me, Ichigo, or I'm claiming you. _Rumor_ has it you're, ah, up for grabs again," Kenpachi whispered into his ear.

The deep purr drew an involuntary shiver out of Ichigo. Trembling, he allowed Zangetsu to fall to his feet and pressed cooling palms against Kenpachi's abdomen. Kenpachi had to contain a groan when he felt the small, bare hands against his skin.

Hayashi stepped forward when he saw that Zaraki Kenpachi had put the foolish boy in his place. Like he had thought, there was no way Ichigo would ever be able to win against a shinigami of any sort of caliber. There were stories about his accomplishments, but honestly, who would believe them? Kurosaki Ichigo was a delinquent that just happened to possess unnatural luck. In the past he had been fortunate enough to garner the attention of Seireitei's elite, but of course the guidance of a proper leader like Hayashi had naturally exposed him for what he really was: an untrained child. Hayashi smiled.

His sense of accomplishment faded when the infamous captain of eleventh division fell motionless to the ground.

Panting, Ichigo staggered a few steps backward. It was a struggle to remain upright. Seemingly endless reiatsu or no, he was exhausted.

"Kurosaki! What did you do to Zaraki-taichou?" came the barked demand.

"I," Ichigo gasped in between breaths, "bound him, sir."

"That's impossible."

"With all due respect, that is exactly what I did."

Kenpachi grunted in agreement. He lay face-up with his hands clamped to his sides and was clearly uncomfortable. Sheepish, Ichigo released him from the bakudou. He knew from experience, courtesy of Rukia, how disconcerting it was to be unable to move.

Kenpachi stood, dusting off his bloody sleeves with a snort. "You suck, Ichigo. Next time we're fighting without any pansy magic."

"As if there will even be a next time, idiot."

"You say that every time, and yet I still manage to corner you. You know you like it."

Ichigo started to lose himself in the banter, but when his eyes accidentally met Kenpachi's penetrating gaze, he had to forcibly remind himself of a week prior. It was never good to be too relaxed around such a dangerous, unpredictable man.

He visibly deflated. "Hn," Ichigo said. He retrieved and rewrapped his zanpakutō.

Hayashi bit his tongue to quell a nasty comment. He was a professional in the presence of someone with higher rank. The blonde took a deep breath. "My recruits appreciate the display you shared with us, Zaraki-taichou," he said.

Kenpachi looked over to the ecstatic group of young shinigami as though just noticing them. "Whatever. Ichigo's the one that won."

"A fluke, I'm sure. Please do not be offended that a mere academy student caught you by surprise with a malfunctioning spell. We mean you no disrespect." Hayashi bowed.

The captain looked at Hayashi in exaggerated bewilderment. "Academy student? Who?"

"Kurosaki. Please do not worry yourself about his deficiencies. They were noticed before they could cause any true harm and will be remedied shortly."

"Why would Ichigo ever even step foot in the academy?"

Hayashi gestured to the residue of Ichigo's testing. Keeping his face blank, Kenpachi pretended to be surprised by the broken Hollow models. Not a single one had escaped Ichigo's power; splintered and barely recognizable, they were hopelessly distorted.

Kenpachi whistled to himself. "Were you teaching them to direct their reiatsu to kill low-level enemies? I thought that only the highest-ranking officers ever learned to do that," he said seriously. Hayashi interpreted the statement as encouragement.

"Of course not, no. That would be impossible for Kurosaki, who has no control over his reiatsu." Ichigo bristled. "Those are his failed attempts at bakudou. I have, in accordance with Seireitei's standards, judged him incompetent and in need of actual training. I have no time to help him along when there are actual graduates that need my attention. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, I understand." Kenpachi smiled brightly, impossibly sharp teeth baring. The expression caused Ichigo, who had known Kenpachi for some time, to fear for the worst, but it made Hayashi preen. "I'm afraid that you're the only one here that doesn't. Are you even listening to yourself, idiot?"

Hayashi's face fell. "I--"

Kenpachi examined an injury on the back of his arm. Casually, he said, "Each and every captain fought tooth and nail for Ichigo when we heard he died. Someone even suggested that he immediately become a captain because of his power, but the old man thought he needed a decade or two to gain political and emotional experience. So the choice was given to Ichigo."

He stared Hayashi in the eye, reiatsu holding the man in place by its own volition. He was proud of it. "Imagine what Kuchiki would say if he knew you were about to dispose of the most valuable asset he has, next to his hair. This little scheme of yours would have never worked."

"Excuse me?" Hayashi asked, affronted.

Kenpachi finally released a full, genuine laugh. Shaking his head, he turned to Ichigo. "I'm bored now. Thanks for the fight."

Ichigo stared after his retreating back. "Wait!" Unable to stop himself, he jogged to catch up.

"Hn?"

"Thank you," he mouthed.

Kenpachi watched the lips silently move. For once, without relying on impulse, he bent to claim them out of his own will. The taste was worth the pain it gave him when he forced himself to stop and walk away.

He just hoped Yachiru had been right.


	6. Chapter 6 Awry

_Chapter Six_

What. The. Hell.

Ichigo pressed suddenly stiff fingers to his lips, unable to fathom what had just happened. He knew he really shouldn't have been surprised, but the fact of the matter was that he _was_. He was completely and totally at a loss for why Kenpachi would do that. A week ago, when Kenpachi had pressed him against a couch and sloppily tried to seduce him into joining eleventh division, Ichigo had been understandably mortified, but in the end he could see how Kenpachi of all people would perhaps find the idea plausible. While the experience was scarring, it was still capable of being rationally dissected and then hidden away with everything else the teenager tried his hardest to forget.

A simple kiss set every nerve in Ichigo's body on fire.

No conclusion Ichigo reached made any sense at all. Love wasn't even considered, and while he tried to tell himself that Kenpachi was still holding onto some misguided notion that Ichigo could be persuaded to switch divisions, just minutes before the captain had fought for Ichigo's continued stay in sixth. The kiss may have just been petty revenge.

The young shinigami watched Kenpachi disappear from view with hooded eyes, a reluctant spark of admiration warring with the bitterness. Despite everything else, he couldn't help but approve of the way the captain had handled the situation. Still perched tentatively at his lips, Ichigo's fingers tingled with the memory of having touched Kenpachi's hard stomach to end the battle. His mouth twitched, lingering somewhere between a frown and a true smile. Kenpachi was smart, he curiously found himself admitting. The way he had defended Ichigo, and spoken to Hayashi…

_No._ Ichigo swiveled, jaw clenching. No, Kenpachi was not smart. Kenpachi was an _idiot_.

Ichigo's gaze did a frantic, desperate sweep of the training area. No, no, no, no, _NO_. His superior had thankfully dismissed the rest of the group, saving Ichigo from the weight of many stares, but at that moment the single pair of eyes trained on his face was more cruel and damning than an army of witnesses.

"Hayashi," he breathed, forgetting to add an honorary suffix. He was too terrified to say anything else.

His superior didn't reply, instead choosing to lean against a wall and stare at Ichigo. A blond eyebrow arched thoughtfully. Polished by a mild smirk, Hayashi's expression clearly revealed that he had seen the kiss.

"Sir," Ichigo attempted.

"Kurosaki."

Hayashi's deeper drawl easily overpowered Ichigo's own voice. The simple name was spoken with such proud authority that Ichigo was instinctively made to snap to attention. Resigned, he took a shaky breath in a vain effort to calm himself.

"Yes?"

The only slighter shorter man approached the redhead with confidence, and as he drew near, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Ichigo's face.

"I had thought—_assumed—_well, something else like favoritism but—" His face darkened in a leer. "My, my, it appears that I was giving you far too much credit as it was. I can see now why the captains were so reluctant to let you... wander off. Zaraki-taichou in particular."

"Huh?"

"Unfortunately for you, I do not seek my pleasure in the male flesh. You will not be an exception here."

Ichigo blinked. Uncomfortable, he shifted when he felt the other man's inspection.

"So don't even bother trying to spread your legs, Kurosaki. It may be an appealing form of sexual favor to men like Zaraki Kenpachi, but I won't be swayed. You are under my jurisdiction. Unless you leave it to join another's, you will do as I say. Do not even think about trying to convince me otherwise."

The redhead's eyes widened almost comically. Recoiling, Ichigo found himself at a loss for words. His hands hung limply by his sides.

"Is this really the first time you've been told no?" Hayashi said into the still air, mostly to himself.

"Sir," said Ichigo after several attempts to clear his throat, "it's not like that. _I'm_ not like that."

"You rewarded Zaraki-taichou with a kiss after miraculously beating him in a duel. I know what I saw, Kurosaki. All of your successes up until now must have been staged. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you were with Zaraki-taichou the night Lieutenant Abarai was searching for you."

"…um."

Hayashi was brave enough to actually chuckle. "I hit the nail on the head, did I not?"

Cringing, Ichigo scuffed his toes into the dirt, loosening enough to make dust fly. His forehead crinkled in thought. Any respect the shinigami may have once had for Kenpachi was fading rapidly. He genuinely appreciated the man's efforts earlier, but now... now it seemed as though Kenpachi knew perfectly well what it took to make Ichigo lose points with Hayashi. Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't know if he could trust Kenpachi anymore, after everything that had happened in the past week. Ichigo figured that being wary around the rough, capricious man was a good decision anyway, but was taken by surprise when a feeling of regret weakened his resolve. What if Kenpachi had been trying to help, and really was just a fool?

No; if Kenpachi was a fool, then there would have been no reason to kiss Ichigo in front of Hayashi, or any reason to kiss Ichigo at all. There must have been a planned reason behind the action—a predicted effect. If Kenpachi had meant to further alienate Ichigo, then he was very successful. Ichigo had a difficult time avoiding Hayashi's prying gaze. It made him feel dirty.

"Sir, I swear to kami-sama that my strength is my own." And there it was, the reassuring surge of reiatsu from within that reminded Ichigo of just how hard he had fought—together with his sword and Hollow—to gain power. "That man has nothing to do with it."

"I appreciate respect, but I appreciate honesty even more. It falls to me, as your instructor, to make an honest man out of you. Understood?"

"Yes," Ichigo stated blandly.

"Honest men," the blond continued, "do honest work. You're going to the academy."

"But—"

"Listen. I greatly dislike and am somewhat sickened by you," Hayashi said quickly, taking no time to mull over his words, "but because of how closely watched you seem to be, I am going to offer but one loophole. Regardless, you will be going to the academy. That's final."

Ichigo opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. "What's the loophole?"

"As long as you don't get in the way, you may still participate in any team missions that don't mess with your school schedule. If anyone finds out, all you have to tell them is that you're getting extra practice outside of the squad."

"Find out? Is it a secret?"

"No, of course not, but do you really think yourself so important that your attending of classes is going to be a news highlight? You're just a trainee."

Ichigo shook his head, deciding not to tell Hayashi that more than a few people would look at Ichigo funny for going to school. As it was, he was already going to need to limit his reiatsu during mock battles with students that probably didn't even know the name of their own zanpakutō yet. He was also willing to bet that all of the captains would know by nightfall if he didn't keep the information mostly to himself.

Were that to happen, the orange-haired teen would be more than slightly embarrassed. He resolved to only tell Renji, who was his roommate and closest friend. The other redhead deserved to know.

"I won't tell anybody that doesn't ask, sir." His discordant tone did not go unnoticed, but it didn't warrant remark either.

Hayashi smiled unpleasantly.

* * *

Later, Ichigo lay on his bed facing the ceiling. Somewhat talking to himself, he was unsure whether he was glad or upset that it was one of Renji's more busy days. He desperately wanted someone to talk to, but at the same time, he found that it would be near impossible to voice his concerns without sounding like he was whining and begging to be an exception. That was the most pressing problem Ichigo faced, and it was quickly becoming a severe annoyance. All of his life he had been special for some reason; first it was ghosts, then his hair as he started primary school, and then finally, his awakened powers that allowed him to separate his spirit from his body and fight. Ichigo craved a sense of normality now that he was permanently living among people just like him, but he couldn't just ignore past experiences. The trials and lessons of his time as a substitute shinigami were what made him who he was. He was simply used to being special.

He would always be different, but was it too much to ask that he be allowed to live a standard afterlife? It was becoming more and more difficult not to slap Hayashi in the face and demonstrate just how much stronger than the blond he was.

He couldn't deny that Hayashi had valid points, though. Ignoring the truths would be hypocritical. If Ichigo truly wanted to be like everyone else, then he needed to follow the same routes. Other shinigami, minus one obvious exception, had all attended the academy _before_ enlisting in military service. Ichigo may have fought a war and perfected certain skills, but he was noticeably lacking in several basic areas. So, as much as he currently despised Hayashi for isolating him and calling him a whore, he had to admit that the man was, by all appearances, not at all in the wrong. Any files pertaining to Ichigo's enrollment to the academy would be standard, the reason for Ichigo's predicament not at all unusual. Ichigo had helped Hayashi fill out the forms.

'_Unable to keep up with teammates. In need of further study. -Hayashi Yuu'_

Ichigo had disapproved without comment as he read over Hayashi's shoulder, accepting a pen when it was handed to him. He was so ready to leave the other man's presence that he simply skimmed the selected classes before signing his name at the bottom. Hayashi had found it necessary to sign Ichigo up for beginner-level combat. Because of this, it would take Ichigo at least three years to graduate from the academy's elevator system. He wondered if there was any way to test into a higher level, but knowing his luck, Ichigo didn't think a chance would ever present itself.

Classes would start in five days, so in the meantime, Ichigo was free to sulk and bemoan his situation. Flipping onto his stomach, he grimaced as he thought about his day. Hayashi had given him the chance to continue fighting alongside his current teammates, but did Ichigo really want to? A week with Hayashi had told him enough about the man's character to avoid being in the same room when possible. The man may not have been significantly powerful, but he did have a lot of political clout when it came to the lives of the trainees under his command. Ichigo could not stand it.

Ichigo groaned into his pillow, reiatsu spiking. He couldn't keep up with his own emotions anymore. Doubt, confusion, and anger all inundated him, but the three were beginning to blend into one solid feeling of indifference. The week since his own death had gone nothing like he'd initially expected it would. That bothered him greatly.

The teen drifted in and out of a fitful slumber until late in the evening, when Renji finally returned from whatever his duties had been that day. The lieutenant was immediately taken aback by his friend's prone, still form, fatigue dissipating to be replaced with worry. He dropped a stack of paperwork onto his own bed before sitting on the end of Ichigo's. He shook the other man gently until bleary brown eyes focused on him.

"Ichigo? Is something wrong?"

Ichigo brushed Renji aside so that he could sit up. "I'm just exhausted, that's all," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. His hair was even messier than usual.

Renji didn't look convinced. "You and I both know that your kidou test was today. How did it go?"

"It was okay," Ichigo said.

"Ichigo." Renji crossed his arms.

"Fine. I failed."

"What?" The lieutenant's head whipped around so that he could fully face Ichigo. "But how is that possible? When we practiced, your spells worked well."

"Apparently my control was haphazard and would be impractical on a battlefield…"

Renji frowned. "I'll admit that your control needed _some_ work, but not enough to _fail_ you. Damn. Who is your squad leader?"

"Hayashi Yuu."

"What does he look like?"

"Blond, and…uh."

"Oh, wait. The prude with the stick up his ass?"

Ichigo almost managed a smile. "Yeah, that about sums him up."

"That guy hardly ever likes anyone that isn't higher ranking. Don't worry about it. So, what's the deal? Do you have to retake it later?"

"He enrolled me in the academy."

"Oh, that's not—" Renji trailed off. "Wait, what? Academy? You? Am I supposed to laugh?"

"I'm serious."

Renji punched Ichigo playfully in the arm, withdrawing his fist once he saw the younger man's expression. "You can't be. Sending you to the academy would be like sending Zaraki-taichou. Can you even imagine him trying to sit in a desk?" Renji rambled. "He would get stuck. Heh. And then every single student would die from reiatsu overload the first time he fought. Oi, Ichigo! What's with that look?"

Ichigo appeared murderous. Why was it that in the short amount of time he'd been dead, everyone found it necessary to constantly bring up Kenpachi? They weren't _that_ similar. Ichigo clenched the bed sheet with his fingers, knuckles turning white. Finally, he exhaled noisily and tried to soothe his irritation.

"I start next week."

"Ichigo, that's just impossible. No one in their right mind would send you into a building full of kids that are still learning how their powers work. It's beneath you. Next chance I get, I'm asking Kuchiki-taichou to revoke your application."

"No, Renji, please don't. I understand now," Ichigo said hollowly. He held up a hand to stop the other redhead from speaking. "The only reason anyone, including you, is fighting this is because I'm the ryoka that 'helped save the world.' No one that wasn't there honestly gives a shit, Renji."

Renji gaped. "It was a definitive piece of history, man. You're a fucking war hero."

"That shouldn't matter when I'm a part of a team. If I'm causing problems by slowing them down, then I need to catch up. Hayashi doesn't see me as Kurosaki Ichigo. He sees me as a trainee that sucks at kidou."

"Tons of people suck at kidou. Hell, people like Zaraki-taichou don't even know a single incantation."

Ichigo hid a grimace.

"You're being brainwashed."

"Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that ten, twenty, a thousand years from now, spending a few years getting an education will be something to be thankful for. It might even save my life. I… I don't really mind… I mean, it's pretty much what I would be doing right now if I hadn't been hit by that car. I had finally saved up enough money to attend a good university."

Renji couldn't argue with that. "I'll trust you to do what's best for yourself, but I still think that the entire situation is a joke. Even Kuchiki-taichou is going to be confused."

"About that. Don't tell anyone."

"Why the hell not?"

"They'll laugh and then try to 'fix' things. Nothing needs to be fixed. No one would even _try_ to intervene if I wasn't who I am."

"Once again, I think you're crazy, but sure. If the captain asks, though, I'm not going to lie." He waited until Ichigo agreed. "Where are you going to live?"

"On campus, I guess. I really enjoy hanging out with you, but it wouldn't be practical…"

Renji seemed more disheartened than actually hurt, and eventually he nodded his head in understanding. Ichigo was right; the academy had its own set of housing and a cafeteria, so it would make no sense for Ichigo to cross half of Seireitei every day just to sleep in his old room. Still, Renji mourned the loss of all the time they could have spent together. He didn't like the fact that Ichigo was going to be kept away from where he truly belonged. Hadn't the boy already done enough to earn his place?

"Are you sure you can't at least stay here on weekends? Rukia was gonna come visit her brother soon, and I know that she'd love to see you."

"Hayashi actually offered that I join my team for missions sometimes," Ichigo admitted, "but it wouldn't be the same. If I'm going to commit to something, it's not going to be halfheartedly. I don't want to be split between the training school and sixth division. Plus… I have some stuff to sort out. I need time to adapt, like you said before."

"Just _stuff?_"

"Yeah. Just… _stuff._"


	7. Chapter 7 Lost

_Chapter Seven_

Twenty days sounded about right.

Truth be told, it was downright unusual for him to even attempt an estimate. Zaraki Kenpachi had never been one to note the passage of time before; many of his collected decades came and went with barely a mention, leaving only the faintest imprint on his ennui as he killed and tried to even remember to breathe. He had long since lost track of how ancient he was or which century he'd somehow gotten himself murdered in. His past just did not matter all that much or hold any kind of sway over him, and he honestly could not be bothered about personal identity beyond choosing a name. And what a name it was.

No, no, it was _thirty_ days, a full month. He could remember now, if he really made the effort, how the ever constricting clench of his gut had signaled the collapse of each uneventful week. It was a disturbing sensation that greatly perturbed the largely unshakeable man.

Trembling fists on the verge of punching a hole in his recently repaired bedroom wall, Kenpachi dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

Well, fuck. Had it really been an entire _month_ since he had seen Ichigo? Kenpachi had surely survived longer periods of separation from the brat, and could continue to, but too much had been left hanging in the air, unfulfilled.

The captain stood at an uncertain precipice. After charming out the truth, Yachiru had huffed and then again cautioned him that prudence was best when it came to the boy. Kenpachi, though, was more than certain that he had been due an "accidental" encounter at least once during the past few weeks; he had gone out of his way to walk slowly by places he was positive an adoring, grateful Ichigo would be. Several times he caught a glimpse of the pansy that was supposedly in charge of Ichigo's training, but there was never even the slightest hint of orange hair in the nearby crowd.

The fact of the matter was that Seireitei was so incredibly large that Kenpachi, particularly as a man with no sense of direction, could not even rely on his heightened senses. It frustrated Kenpachi and made him want to scream.

So he did, naturally. Brushing past Yachiru, who was on her way to her own room, he stomped downstairs with a snarl. A month was pushing his forbearance to very fragile limits. He had so cleverly laid the groundwork for mutual respect (at the very least, he thought, licking his lips), and was anxious to keep racing toward the grand prize. In neither life nor death had Kenpachi ever liked to take things slow.

Kenpachi also truthfully did not possess as much free time as it was rumored. There was only so much paperwork he could pass onto his subordinates without being cruel (people would complain and then the old man would force him to do _all _of the work, heaven forbid). So now, knowing that his division was not on the brink of disrepair and would at least pass inspections, he felt justified in letting a handful or two of forgotten reports continue to rot. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would mysteriously catch on fire again.

A smile graced Yachiru's features when he passed, more out of cultured affection and habit than sentiment of the moment. She claimed her usual perch without much thought and together they greeted the blood red skies of evening. Kenpachi's first instinct was to head directly toward Ichigo's mysterious location, but determination lent no sense to the questions of _how_ and _which way. _It was unheard of for the answers to elude him.

"Where," came the squeal into his left ear, "are we going, Ken-chan?" Yachiru leaned farther forward, her entire torso draping over his shoulder. "A meeting?"

He continued walking without slowing his pace, only confirming briefly that her hold was tight enough and that she wouldn't slide off when jostled. "Not at this late hour. We're just going out."

"Oh."

He took a deep breath to cleanse his lungs, eternally appreciative of how fresh, warm air could turn his mind into a blank slate for brief periods. Heeding a gesture from Yachiru, he easily abandoned the streets for firm footing on the nearest rooftop.

The twilight cloaked them better than darkness, allowing the pair speedy passage through the watercolor sky like it was a wet painting. Yachiru hummed in delight and, as the wind made Kenpachi's bells sing, the older man felt content for the first time in a while. All significant aspects of his life fit nicely into the corresponding niches that had long ago been established. There was no legitimate reason for the scene to feel so subtly, achingly imperfect.

Kenpachi started retracing his steps once Yachiru fell asleep, knowing that if he continued on much longer, it would be near impossible to find his way home. He managed, somehow, to rest that night with only the barest flash of orange tingeing his dreams.

The tentative sense of ease managed to last a further eleven days before he inevitably snapped.

"Kuchiki," he loudly began one morning after a budget debate had abated, "exactly where the hell is Ichigo?"

Many nosy heads turned at the mere mention of the ryoka as his voice echoed, bouncing off of the high ceilings of first division. Kenpachi winced not at the abrasiveness of his own tone but at the raised eyebrows of the eavesdroppers, if those in range of his obvious shouting could be labeled as such. It was their own damn responsibility to cover their ears and mind their own business.

As best he could, Byakuya stared down his nose at the much taller man. "Language." Quietly, he motioned his red-haired lieutenant to his side and began to exit the hall. Kenpachi stomped after him, a laughing Yachiru pushing his hair into his eyes with sloppy ministrations.

"Kuchiki!"

"My hearing is as potent as ever, Zaraki. There is no need to yell."

"Inside voices, Ken-chan," Yachiru contributed with an exaggerated whisper. After a few more steps, she amended, "No, we're outside now. Go ahead!"

"Thanks. Where the _fuck_ is Ichigo?"

Byakuya stopped and drew out a sigh before freezing his countenance into an icy glare. "I do not make it my business to know the precise whereabouts of all my recruits during orientation. Find him yourself. I haven't the time."

"It was a simple question," Kenpachi snarled.

"I returned the favor with an answer simple enough for even you to understand."

Kenpachi scratched his abdomen languidly, well accustomed to the aristocrat's uninteresting tactics. Consistently dull and lifeless, conversation with the other captain was never looked forward to with any great anticipation.

"Fair enough," he snorted.

He genuinely was starving to know, though.

Yachiru tugged his spikes to the side to make him look at Renji. "Maybe pineapple-head can tell us."

The other lieutenant shrank under the intensity of the pink-haired girl's inspection, choosing to stare at the clouds rather than meet her wide eyes. Byakuya just looked bored.

"Ichigo? No clue," Renji swore. "Never heard of him."

"Liar," Yachiru deadpanned.

Kenpachi furrowed his brow in confusion. "Ah? I thought you were one of Ichigo's little friends."

"I said he's lying, Ken-chan."

"You sure?" He leaned down to peer at Renji's face, making the younger man sweat freely. "I have a hard time keeping track."

"I tire of this." Byakuya stepped forward then. Willing a migraine down, he moved between the two shinigami and made known his annoyance. "You and I have nothing left to discuss, as I have told you. Cease blocking the path."

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Renji to mumble a standard apology and hurry in his wake.

Yachiru huffed. "I know that he knows."

"He didn't seem to be that close with Ichigo, even if they are friends."

"He is."

"I don't think so."

"He is."

Kenpachi decided it was in his best interest to let Yachiru feel like she won an argument, which he tended to do often. He would have the satisfaction in his own mind of knowing that he was always right, and besides, he had better things to do—like actually finding Ichigo.

"Ichigo can't have just disappeared. He brings too much attention to himself. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough."

"He should have been around where you left him," Yachiru said, "unless he transferred."

"We would have heard about that. He's still in sixth."

"What did his supervisor say?"

"Didn't ask. Guy's a bore."

Yachiru climbed over his head to hang upside-down and look Kenpachi clearly in the eye, incredulous. "Ken-chan's an idiot."

"Not that again." The captain smiled thinly, like she was joking.

With a heart-rending sigh that sounded awkward coming from her young features, the girl fell back once more to sit comfortably on Kenpachi's shoulder. Kenpachi had never outright described what he was feeling for the newly dead ryoka, but anyone remotely close to him could hazard a guess as to the feral nature of his physical intentions. As such, she could not believe that he was dense enough to search aimlessly for the boy but not do a single constructive thing about the relationship, or even get a clue and ask for directions. Yachiru hung her head.

He was, plainly put, too half-assed about everything.

"A complete idiot," she reiterated, quietly. She pitied the man greatly but wasn't going to do his work for him. He would never learn that way. "What else do we have to do today?"

"Nothing. I already showed face. Gave all my work to Ikkaku."

"…which means that he gave it all to Eyebrow-san." She smiled. "More play time for us. Where are we going?"

"To look for Ichigo and then take a nap."

"Sounds good, Ken-chan."

She steadied her balance and smiled.

* * *

Miles away, Ayasegawa Yumichika sneezed as he crept into a room full of dusty reports, careful to not disturb any of the precariously piled stacks as he moved. He certainly had his work set out for him. Although recent weeks had given him nascent hope that Kenpachi was mindful enough to take care of his own paperwork, menial tasks like organization were much too trivial for the captain to even think about. Yumichika supposed he should just be grateful that Kenpachi was willing to even sign them.

It was not a good sign that he had a headache before even knowing where to begin sorting. He knew for certain that the dirt was going to get in his hair, and his skin was never intentioned for such a dry environment. Tiptoeing around the most collapsible areas, he scrunched his nose in blatant distaste. The room had obviously become a dumping ground for like-minded procrastinators and, following the example of others before him, Yumichika was not going to do more than he had to. Filth would be free to settle so long as he could elegantly cross off a line on his list of things to accomplish that day.

It took Yumichika several moments of hopeless swiveling to decide on which corner of the room to start with, cursing the thoughtlessness of his division all the while. A precious hour became devoted to merely dividing the stacks into "important" and "can be ignored," and another was needed to distinguish between intended recipients. Reports directly to Genryuusai-dono always took priority, while listings of how many bandages each squad had gone through that month were formalities performed by recruits that needed busy work. Unohana automatically sent them significant quantities anyway.

Yumichika made a mental note to have a courier visit the room later, wholly unconcerned about whether he remembered. His goal had been to be done before the evening meal, which he easily accomplished, giving him ample time to freshen up in his own rooms.

He took one last glance at the room, completely satisfied until a shadow not his own fell over the table closest to the window. Yumichika regrettably _knew_ that shadow.

Widening his eyes, he made to issue a warning but ultimately failed to prevent Ikkaku from jumping into the room and disrupting a stack. The bald man landed lightly on his feet in a cocky crouch, successfully ignoring the papers floating to the floor around him.

"Can't you ever use the door like normal, attractive people?"

"I needed to tell you something," Ikkaku shrugged. "This was faster than walking around."

Yumichika bent down to retrieve a paper. "Out with it, then."

"I need you to do something for me tomorrow."

"No."

"It's easy."

"Then you can do it yourself no problem," Yumichika spat. Pushing his black hair behind his ears, he knelt, delicately arranging the jumbled heap on a bench as he tried to recall their previous order.

"Come on, it's a request from the Captain."

"A request he made of _you_, Ikkaku. Leave me alone before you ruin anything else."

The slim man ignored Ikkaku's narrowed eyes and pursed lips. The pair had known each other far too long for such simple tricks to have any pull, and yet, some ugly feeling of obligation always motivated him to continue with, "What exactly would you need me to do?"

Ikkaku instantly brightened, looking up. "Someone from eleventh division needs to make a presentation at the academy."

There was that pervasive sensation of dread. "Oh _god_, no. He asked you first." Silence. "I am busy all week."

Ikkaku adamantly refused to meet his eyes.

"Fine. Go tell the Captain for me, then, but also see if he can find anyone else. I'll only do it if no one else can…"

Both sincerely doubted that Kenpachi even remembered charging Ikkaku with the task, but protocol demanded that the captain be alerted of any significant changes.

"Can't," the shinigami said with honest conviction. "I need to go play."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Ikkaku. It would just take a minute."

"Thanks for everything!" He bolted, disappearing as instantaneously as he usually appeared.

Yumichika stared after him in disbelief, feathered eyebrow twitching angrily. The exchange was certainly not new, but familiarity with the actions of an idiot did not make them any less taxing.

He lingered for a few minutes to finish reorganizing Ikkaku's mess. Hopefully, if he was lucky, Kenpachi was already in the middle of doing something. The man was more willing to work if it meant getting out of a different job; but when lazing about, he liked to be left to it.

It suited his luck that Kenpachi would be asleep. Standing outside the thin door that separated him from Kenpachi's office, he could hear the gentle snoring. A headache was already festering by the time he worked up the courage to knock. It was Yachiru that answered, peering up at him curiously.

"Yun-Yun?"

He folded his arms. "I came to inform the Captain that I've assumed responsibility for the academy visit."

"We knew that the moment we gave the job to Ikkaku."

"Yes, surely, but..." He paused. "Wait, seriously? You guys have got to stop doing this to me. I am already overworked as it is."

"We work just as hard, silly," Yachiru giggled. "Ken-chan spent five hours trying to find me ice cream today. He wore himself right out!"

Yumichika considered it unbecoming to raise his tone in an argument, but he was beginning to not be able to help it. Certain inflections of his voice would hitch girlishly while he strained to whisper over his lieutenant's muffled laughter.

"Tomorrow is a very bad day for me. I already have my own duties combined with Ikkaku's, and the Captain asked me to sit in on some crappy fire safety lecture for him. It is physically impossible for me to handle an outing on top of that." He thrust an accusing finger in the general direction of Kenpachi's large form, sprawled inelegantly in the open doorway of the office's porch. "Tell the man that he needs to do these things himself!"

"He doesn't want to."

"Then force him."

Yachiru shook her head as though Yumichika had uttered something terribly asinine. "If it's not fun, then Ken-chan does not have to do it."

"It is about time he grows up."

Kenpachi rolled over then, propping his head up. His jaw stretched impossibly wide as he yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand.

Yumichika bowed hurriedly. "Captain," he murmured as the other man sat up.

"What's so important that you needed to wake me?"

Kenpachi straightened his own twisted hakama, pissed at the disruption.

His fifth seat finally stepped fully into the room. "Captain, I beg that you personally visit the academy like originally scheduled. I am not free tomorrow."

"You woke me up for _that_? I don't feel like it. You do it."

"I _can't_, Captain—not without ignoring all of my other tasks."

"That's your problem."

"Ken-chan," Yachiru intervened, "I can see this going on for hours. Maybe you should just go."

"Academy, huh?" The institution's mention struck a chord within Kenpachi. He fingered his hair, humming as though trying to remember something important. There was a nagging itch at the back of Kenpachi's brain telling him that he had forgotten a very crucial detail, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was or even what it applied to.

The pansy _may_ have said something about the academy when Kenpachi valiantly defended his Ichigo from the blight of degradation.

"I haven't looked there yet," he said suddenly, straightening.

There simply was not any reason to look, even at the moment. He had saved the day. It was impossible that his efforts would have been disregarded and rendered useless so cruelly, but then again, impossibilities had been known to bite him in the ass.

"You'll go, then, Captain?"

He still did not want to. For the first time in over a month he felt unsure of his standing. Zaraki Kenpachi was not supposed to acknowledge his own faults. In fact, he could not fathom why he was even considering the probability that he had failed, because he hadn't. There was nothing at the academy that concerned him. Nothing.

But he had to take into account the impossibility.

"Whatever," he relented. "Now get the hell out of my office."


End file.
